On Sunday, I turn twenty-seven. It is an age that scares me a little, because I have no designs on membership of the namesake club. Nor do I really have anything 'planned'. Three consecutive nights of bar work quickly put an end to that. Perhaps a celebration next weekend? As a consequence of my bar work, I think I will be lucky to be in bed (alone) by 3 am Sunday. I will likely sleep as late as I can - midday, fingers crossed - before the family gathers for an ersatz Father's Day thing.
I have already thought about the wish I am going to make as I cut the cake ...
I do not have the time for an in-depth update of my life today. Later this week, I promise. With so much to say, and so little time to write, I resent the fact that I have to get back to work.
I have already thought about the wish I am going to make as I cut the cake ...
I do not have the time for an in-depth update of my life today. Later this week, I promise. With so much to say, and so little time to write, I resent the fact that I have to get back to work.